"Ivy, get your ass down here and make me breakfast right now!" Blake's voice, dripping with venom and malice, shattered the fragile morning peace. Each syllable felt like a slap, a reminder of the bruises that painted my body in shades of pain from the previous night's beating. I struggled to my feet, every movement a test of endurance, and dressed quickly.
Navigating the labyrinthine house, I encountered obstacles at every turn—people who seemed to exist solely to impede my progress. Emma, the pack’s self-proclaimed diva, seized my arm with her talon-like fingers. "Bitch, you better get my breakfast right this time, or I'll tell Reed how disrespectful you've been." Her words, laced with venom, cut deeper than any physical blow.
Reaching the kitchen, I began the daily ritual of preparing breakfast: scrambled eggs, sausages, waffles, fruit salad, orange juice, coffee, and a variety of salads. Each dish was crafted with mechanical precision, my mind detached from the process. As always, I spat in their salads—a small, secret rebellion that brought a fleeting, bitter satisfaction.
The pack members trickled into the dining room, their chatter a cacophony that grated on my nerves. I laid out the food and retreated to the attic, my sanctuary in this house of horrors. Here, among the dust and forgotten relics, I unearthed my hidden treasures: a phone and a computer, my clandestine connections to a world beyond these walls.
Footsteps on the attic stairs jolted me from my thoughts. Panic surged as I quickly concealed my devices, my heart pounding. Blake burst in, his face a storm of irritation. "You need to do your chores and set up for Reed's birthday party. It better be perfect, with plenty of food, beer, and liquor." His orders delivered, he left me to my tasks, a whirlwind of resentment and exhaustion.
I worked in silence, my voice an infrequent visitor to my lips. Speaking out of turn could result in more pain, a lesson learned through countless beatings. With everyone gone to school and work, I focused on the preparations for Reed's party, moving with a mechanical efficiency. Multiple trips to the store, mowing the lawn, cleaning the pool, setting up tables and chairs—it was an endless litany of tasks that numbed my mind and occupied my body.
By the time the party started at seven, I was a ghost of myself, moving through the motions with practiced detachment. Serving drinks, I remained unnoticed, a shadow flitting through the periphery of their revelry. At 11:30, as I tried to pass Reed, I accidentally brushed against him, feeling an unexpected spark that sent a shockwave through my body. Reed's reaction was swift and brutal; he grabbed my wrist and dragged me to his room, his grip leaving bruises.
Inside, his eyes, usually so captivating, were dark with contempt. "The moon goddess has a cruel sense of humor, making you my mate," he sneered. "I, Reed Winters, reject you, Ivy Hale, as my mate and future Luna of the Silver Moon Pack." His words, filled with loathing, were meant to break me. But I refused to crumble.
"I, Ivy Hale, reject you, Reed Winters, as my mate. I accept your rejection." My voice, steady and calm, surprised even me. I turned and left, slamming the door behind me, my heart pounding with a newfound resolve and defiance.
Back in the attic, I packed my few belongings with determined haste. Each item was a piece of my past, a past I was ready to leave behind. In the alpha's office, I retrieved fifty grand from the safe—a final act of rebellion and survival. Reed's rejection was the last straw. With a mix of fear and exhilaration, I stepped out of the Silver Moon Pack's territory, embracing the unknown with the hope of a new beginning and the promise of freedom.
